


Creeper Cuddles (and the Insecurities of One Stiles Stilinski)

by Winterlynne_Norvic



Series: Insecurities [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Angst and Feels, Bisexual Peter Hale, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Female Stiles Stilinski, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Good Peter Hale, Groping, Horny Stiles Stilinski, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Peter Hale Deserves Nice Things, Requited Unrequited Love, Sleepy Cuddles, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterlynne_Norvic/pseuds/Winterlynne_Norvic
Summary: “It’s too early in the morning for Disney music, Stiles.” Peter sleepily murmured into her neck.“Peter,” she poked his thigh repeatedly and prayed he didn’t move it, “Creeperwolf. Zombiewolf. Stalker o’mine. Let go. Let go. Let go, let go, let-”He growled and Stiles suddenly recalled you weren’t supposed to poke sleeping bears. Or hornets nests. Or wolves.“Peterrrrrrrr,” She whined.“No,” he growled again, “Not letting you go.”
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Insecurities [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145594
Comments: 15
Kudos: 301





	Creeper Cuddles (and the Insecurities of One Stiles Stilinski)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had this work in progress in my docs for months, and the other day after some words of encouragement I was finally like, I can finish this, so I did! I’m actually pretty happy with it so despite the fact that this was supposed to be PWP, enjoy Stiles being an angsty horny mess with a loving sleepy Peter.

Soft breathing and the faintest sound of music from headphones never disconnected accompanied the feeling of safety and strong arms around her as Stiles began to wake, still somewhere between lucidity and the haze of sleep. It wasn’t completely obvious what had brought her out of the arms of sweet unconsciousness at first, but the uncomfortable sensation of sweat pooling between her breasts led to some obvious if drowsiness-caused delayed conclusions.

The heat had overwhelmed the best night of rest she’d gotten in a while, and Stiles couldn’t help but grunt her displeasure. It’s not like the insomnia, ADHD, and the constant stream of monsters and nightly terrors made it easy to get any sleep in the first place, but now it seemed like even the temperature was out to get her! 

Stiles pouted miserably at the air, resolutely deciding she’d wait it out and let the familiar warm body behind her cradle her back into the very nice dream she’d been having involving stunning blue eyes and dangerous hands that were gentle only for her and heavy when she wanted them to be. A fantasy that wracked her with both guilt and pleasure. Stiles never could help who she fell in love with, and unattainable was the only name of her game.

She whimpered when her lungs struggled to pull in a breath that wasn’t stifling, and the truly lovely arms around her tightened, pulling her back flat against a hard muscled chest. She could feel pain being drained from her without conscious thought of the one doing it and her next breath was easier even with her throat clogged with unshed tears. 

Now could not, no,  _ would not _ be pity party time. If her anxiety and depression didn’t wake him first, the salty tang of her tears would, and she refused to cry over the gorgeous man who would take care of her in every heart beat, would kill for her like her morally gray ass would do for him, and never wreck her in the way she craved.

It didn’t matter that he slipped into her bed most nights and held her close, or that she’d slipped into his bed when her home was too far, or she couldn’t dare face anyone else who knew just how impure she’d become and would judge her for it.

Peter never judged. Not when it mattered.

Yeah he bemoaned her sense of fashion, or lack thereof, and he despaired over her choice of friends, particularly Scott who he’d never once called by his first name and had not-so jokingly threatened to kill on numerous occasions. He loathed Lydia for a variety of reasons, and even though he’d used her to pull off his zombiewolf resurrection, he didn’t treat her much better than he did Allison when she’d been alive. Allison the temporarily crazy huntress, vs. Lydia whose greatest fault to Peter was walking over Stiles who’d been hopelessly in love with her for much of their young lives.

Peter never judged. More importantly, he valued her. Peter appreciated Stiles’ worth more than anyone since her mom, and it meant the world to her. So on the rare night when he was in bed with a stranger instead of her she didn’t hold it against him. He deserved to be happy, and while it would (will, her brain reminded her, will not would) destroy her to watch someone else do it, she would. She will. Even if it means standing aside when it was time and her tattered soul tore for good. He deserved the world, and she’d do everything she could to give him it. 

She loved him.

Stiles Stilinski with every piece of her scarred body and decayed heart, loved every fibre of Peter Hale and always would.

Still, the cloying air was hard to breathe, and her body knew squirming like Stiles knew Scott. Very, extremely, concerningly well and since forever. She couldn’t help squirming and the sleepywolf holding her took offense to that. It started with a wiggle of her fingers and toes, then full twitches in her appendages. Ankle rolling, hands clenching, chest curling in and out. 

It started with a wriggle of her fingers and toes, and ends when she gasps softly, the unconscious body behind her shifting minutely to account for her squirming bringing all her attention to the jean-clad leg resting between her bare thighs dragging back over her exposed core before sliding forward and settling again. Oh. She can’t decide what to make of this for a moment before-

_ Oh _ .

Images flashed behind her eyes and Stiles shuddered in shame remembering. 

Last night Peter had gone on a date, an actual date instead of the usual one night stand from a too loud club with whatever guy or girl he picked up. Sometimes both in one night. 

Dates are serious, or the start of something serious. They had  _ potential _ that one night stands never did. And Stiles didn’t even know if it had been a man or woman he’d gone out with last night, well beyond consumed in her jealousy and anger. Practically drowning in frustration, unable to please herself with her fingers and then later toys when she became desperate enough. Ignoring the depth of her swirling emotions which  _ would not shut up and let her find bliss _ had not been on the cards last night.

Eventually she had just given up, threw on an oversized shirt which was blessedly soft but horrible as she only now realized that the shirt was  _ Peter’s _ and quite probably reaked of her dissatisfaction and unachieved orgasm.

_ Oh god _ , when Peter stole the shirt back later now that it was sufficiently covered in her scent, he’d be able to  _ tell _ . Not to mention she was only wearing the shirt and had no undergarments to speak of.

Fuck.

_ Fuck _ .

Seriously fuck her life.

Drowsywolf moved again, pressing his perfectly sculpted leg harder into her cunt and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from making a sound. The position and pressure alone had her getting wet and she’d be damned if she had to explain the series of events that lead to this.

Stiles tilted her head in confusion and she didn’t mind at all when Peter shifted his face down to nuzzle her exposed neck in his sleep. She’d be able to explain her side of the story, sure, but what about his? 

What had led to this??

Peter had been on a date, the source of her misery last night as mentioned, but how had he ended up here? She glanced down and saw he was wearing his dark slutty jeans that made her want to eat his ass (she knew for a fact he enjoyed the activity, he had told her after all. TMI has never existed for Stiles, and Peter trusted her enough to share in return.) so he hadn’t shed all of his date clothes aside from his shirt and belt, both of which decorated her floor nicely. And that in turn meant he’d not participated in any sexual acts last night. 

She knew clothed sex was a thing and that Peter had probably done it many times before, but Peter respected her enough to never wear another persons scent in her bed, a favour that she returned. Stiles pondered this while soothing her fingers over expensive denim. Had he just fallen into bed with her? 

If the date had exhausted Peter enough, it would explain while the jeans were still on him and not also on the floor, because jeans fucking sucked to sleep in and though Stiles’ complaints of bad touch were jokes, Peter never missed an opportunity to go skin to skin with her. And just thinking about his date had her turning green (envy plus magic plus belief and overuse of the saying meant her skin sometimes actually became olive, and not the nice tanned colour. Luckily she’d never reached the point of wicked witch of the west green, she’d heard that could become quite permanent) but it faded when she realized she couldn’t really feel jealous when Peter had ended up in her bed instead of theirs.

Stiles felt more sweat dampen her skin and tried shifting again, hard muscle kept her in place and it wouldn’t be so bad, Stiles could stand a little heat really, as long as it wasn’t pooling between her legs while Peter’s thigh spread them further and put pressure on her clit. 

It felt wonderful and she felt wicked. She wanted to grind down against him, she wanted to come, and she wanted it to be with Peter. With Peter while he was  _ awake _ . Not sleeping off what was surely a terrible evening in bed with the only pack member he trusted entirely. Trust Stiles had worked hard to earn and would not loose because she couldn’t control herself.

_ Control _ , Stiles chided herself.  _ Control, control, control. _

She tried to think of something unarousing and picked  _ Let It Go  _ to hum and keep herself occupied. If she focused on the right words, she might even learn something, she figured.

Tilting her head forward she caught the closest part of the neckline (the shoulder because of course it was a v-neck the plunged very low on her chest) between her teeth to keep her mouth occupied and prevent her from accidentally singing while she hummed the parts of the song she remembered.

_ Don’t let them in, don’t let them see. _

Stiles wonders who her  _ them _ is. The pack? Her dad? None of them would approve, she knew, and because it was Peter none of them would feel any sympathy. He’s insane, psychotic, a  _ murderer _ , Stiles. 

_ Be the good girl you always have to be. _

Stiles is all of those things too. The nogitsune may have driven her insane, but the fire had done the same to Peter. Neither of them were naturally insane like they were psychotic, Stiles just didn’t tend to act on her particular brand of moral ambiguity because it would disappoint Scott and her dad. Too bad she’d already killed before either of them had drilled the lesson in and she’d chosen to humour them, perhaps a bit for her own sake too. Being good royally sucked, however, and sometimes she so wanted desperately to be free. Not bad,  _ free _ . The world wasn’t black and white but shades of gray, her a tad or more shades darker than she supposedly should be. 

Peter, well. Peter was freedom, and not Stiles’. So-

_ Conceal don’t feel.  _

Platonic relationship. Friend zone. The wingwoman. The bridesmaid not the bride. On a list of who could never know of her true feelings for the love of her life (which at this rate wouldn’t be all the long) Stiles couldn’t tell who took spot uno, said love, her father, Scott, or Lydia. She’d lose Peter if he found out, her father would send her as geographically far as possible, Scott would explain to her in the tone of his why she was wrong and why she should listen to him and stay away from Peter who had certainly Stockholmed her. Or maybe Pavloved? Not that Scott knew what either of those meant, but he’d imply it in his own dull way. Lydia might turn to violence, murder Peter again perhaps? She’d been wanting revenge for a while, not that she could do it on her own so she’d turn to Derek most likely.

Derek...wouldn’t murder Peter at least, but he didn’t trust him either. He’d probably institutionalize Peter. Or Stiles. Maybe Stiles because something’s gotta be fucked in her head to fall for the manipulative bastard cuddling her into a heat stroke.

_ Don’t let it show. _

If Stiles rocked back and forth, could grind herself down, she knew she’d finish quicker than she’d ever had before. Probably leave her slick all over his pant leg too and that would most definitely show if the scent of her arousal didn’t reveal it first.

“It’s too early in the morning for Disney music, Stiles.” Peter sleepily murmured into her neck.

Stiles stops her humming abruptly and tries not to freak out. Her scent shouldn’t be giving much away, apart from being a bit morose Stiles had been controlling herself and stomping all over her arousal with her six am sadness session. Stiles wonders if that counts as an alliteration and absentmindedly sucks more of the shirt into her mouth soaking it in saliva and chewing it in between her teeth.

“And stop that. This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe. If you’re that hungry we can eat breakfast once it’s a slightly more reasonable time.” 

“Sorry, creeperwolf. Didn’t mean to wake ya, and I’m not hungry just hot. Overheated. Got bad enough that one minute I’d been snoozing and the next poof, awake and uncomfortably warm because a werewolf heater had joined me in bed. Not that I mind, but the sweat, Peter, I’m soaked.” She mentally winced at the double entendre but plowed on, babbling still. “You gotta free me,” Stiles ignored the double meaning of that too, the unintended truth slipping out without her say so.

“Release the Stiles. Preferably before I melt, like the wicked witch of the west. Although, she had a bucket of water thrown on her when she melted, and like right now that seems like more of a relief, and I’m already wet,” oh my god, someone just kill her, if she doesn’t shut up he might actually realize all the shit she’s saying is really true. “So it wouldn’t be that big of a difference. Imagine being defeated by a bucket of water though. Like what a weakness to have. Do you think it never rained in Oz? Did she never shower? That would be gross, speaking of gross, I am. Cause of the sweat. So I should shower, which I can’t do when you’re pinning me to the bed,” Nooo, bad Stiles, bad thought, Peter pinning her is for good dreams and fantasies, not when said man is actually pinning her to her bed.

“Peter,” she poked his thigh repeatedly and prayed he didn’t move it, “Creeperwolf. Zombiewolf. Stalker o’mine. Let go. Let go. Let go, let go, let-”

He growled and Stiles suddenly recalled you weren’t supposed to poke sleeping bears. Or hornets nests. Or wolves. 

“Peterrrrrrrr,” She whined.

“No,” he growled again, “Not letting you go.”

“But-“

“You’re  _ mine _ , darling.” And she was, more than he knew. His words sent a pang through her heart, rattling her. Her scent shifted to pain momentarily and she knew it was strong enough that he’d picked it up by the way he tensed and his breath was already ghosting across her neck preparing to ask if she was alright.

“I can be yours in the shower.” Stiles protested forcing her scent to lighten, before realizing once again how that sounded.

Peter trusts his nose to read her when he can’t see her eyes, but still, he hesitates, his reply delayed ever so slightly. “As pleasant as that sounds, sweetheart, I’m not finished holding the only pack member I have, one who is too awake for what time it is and how little sleep she gets.”

“I’m all for creeper cuddles but, Peter! I’m melting! Like-not the wicked witch cause like I said bucket of water would feel so good right now, but like, Frosty! The Snowman, I mean. Minus the magical hat. And eyes made out of coal. The button nose I have… I think, although mine is more upturned, like momma’s was.”

“You have a very adorable nose,” Peter agreed but not because she hadn’t been complimenting her own face. Unlike Peter, vanity didn’t run rampant through her veins. “But if you don’t shut up,” he continued, “I have no problem with stripping you bare to solve your little heat problem.” That wouldn’t be very hard to do, she knew, considering she only had his shirt on. A shirt which he was currently rucking up to prove he’d do it (she already knew that) and because Peter liked her skin, to touch and admire. He claimed to like pretty things, and like she said, he could and would take any opportunity that had them skin to skin.

“That’s a pretty light punishment coming from you.” She snarks over her insecurities.

He hummed and continued until he had pushed the shirt hem over her breasts, his palm in the middle kept it from slipping back down. It wouldn’t be a stretch for him to reach out with his fingers and run them over either of her sensitive nipples, perked by the cooler air clashing with the damp heat of her skin and shirt. She wants him to touch so badly that she’s surprised when he does, his whole hand sliding over to cup her exposed breast.

“If you want to be punished, Stiles, all you have to do is ask.” He returns smoothly, the utter bastard, and nips her neck. She feels a hint of fang, and unconsciously arches her back at the unexpected feeling while pushing her breast more firmly into his hand with the action. “Politely though, darling. I’ve never head you say please, and I quite enjoy the thought of you begging me.” 

She gasps when he squeezes and a thumb brushes over her nipple. Once. Twice. Three times before he’s rolling it between two fingers.

Stiles is trying to keep herself from moaning, because this is not a porno but honestly what the fuck is happening right now? She’s so desperately confused and his hands on her are doing funny things to her brain and thought process.

Had she not just established she had absolutely no chance? That she’d never share a bed as his lover? That he did not want her or love her like that?

“Stiles?” He asked unsure, which, weird. Peter is never unsure. He’s  _ Peter _ , an actual peacock with limitless confidence and smarm, wit like the devil and body of a god. Well, she frowned internally and rephrased her thought, not an actual peacock, though that might be more fitting for the amount of preening the wolf does. 

“I can stop.” He offered, and no, no, never stop. Stiles wanted the exact opposite of stopping. As very well established in her mind, Stiles wants nothing more than Peter touching her and holding her and being  _ hers _ . Now would be a good time to establish that  _ aloud _ , seeing how Peter can’t actually read her mind.

Her scent however…

Oh gods.

Yes, her scent he can read, and it’s probably reading  _ get this girl on meds because she needs help _ with the way it’s fluctuating with all her thoughts and emotions, of which she has so many. 

Stiles whines when he moves to draw his hands away. She’s such a fucking mess she made Peter doubt himself. 

“Please don’t!” She bursts out, actual words finally managing to come out of her ridiculous mouth. She could spew words that didn’t matter like no tomorrow, but when it mattered she couldn’t voice all the things her tongue felt too twisted and heavy to say.

It didn’t happen often that Stiles didn’t just speak her thoughts, but speaking and articulating are two very different things, and those few but really not few times are moments she heavily relates to Derek. For all that she says, she’s really saying nothing. She doesn’t wait for people to reply because no one listens, she has whole entire conversations with herself because if she waited for someone to care enough to pay enough attention to hold one with her, she’d never talk to anyone at all. She and Derek had opposite reactions to being unheard, but she wondered what he would say if he knew how much she felt she resembled him on the inside.

Stiles also hated self reflection, she hated her insecurities, she hated so many things that it’s almost surprising she isn’t a worse person.

She should be commemorated, even. Honestly, and Peter would agree, but then again Peter has also probably had similar thoughts.

A note for later, Stiles remarks. Get the Hales to sort out their shit and become a better family and pack. With Stiles, because they’ve all been too harsh on each other and maybe that could change. She’s optimistic. Not in general but for this it might work. Even better if she can get her head on straight and focus.

There’s a reason she has ADHD meds. 

(And the reason is this never ceasing turmoil of thoughts and distractions and an inability to focus when she so desperately needs and wants to.)

Peter’s hand moves off her chest to press flat against her abdomen, and she only mourns the loss of where it had been a little bit. It’s better that his hands be less of a distraction than they would be when she’s like this. 

“ ‘Please don’t’ what, darling?” He prompts. He waits for her to speak. More importantly he waits for her to think. Stiles doesn’t need to fill the silence with Peter, doesn’t need to have conversations by herself, doesn’t have to go unheard because he hears her. 

She loves him, is desperately in love with him, and she doesn’t know how to tell him.

He tenses near imperceptibly behind her but pressed completely against him as she is, Stiles feels it and she freezes.

Because, oh, oh  _ no _ . She totally said that out loud, hadn’t she?

Peter chuckles, the sound is like warm caramel and the exhale of breath on her ear has goosebumps raising all over her body, skin pringling at the damp heated feeling.

The unfortunate mental word choice brings her attention temporarily back to the damp heat she feels lower down which is not what she should be paying attention to right now. She’s speaking out loud! 

“Yes, you are.” He agrees in a deep rumble with her not-actually-mental thoughts, it would increase her panic but, “I think you managed to tell me just fine in your own way.” Peter says. It sounds so fond (so loving she almost aches). It’s not at all like he’s rejecting her or humouring a young naive child like she irrationally dreaded he might.

Has Stiles mentioned how much she hated being insecure and that she needs more sleep? 

In between one wayward thought and the next Peter moves from behind Stiles to over her. It’s not startling because she’s beyond used to the Hale manhandling ways and werewolf speed, but her legs are spread and wrapped around his (how did she do that?), the shirt is pooling around her belly button. She feels completely bare under Peter and his hungry stare, and completely comfortable. Safe. His eyes meet hers and all her doubts and self conscious fears suddenly seem so much less. The pools of ice she’d come to adore are beholding her only in awe, how could she not look at him the same way? She’s not fixed, no. Real life doesn’t work like that and hot men, or a hot werewolf in her peculiar case, doesn’t make years of hard hits disappear. The physical and mental scars are hers to bear, but she somehow knows it’ll become Peter’s mission to make her realize how completely unflawed she is, even in all her many flaws.

“Stiles, sweetheart?”

He brings her to the present, he won’t let her get lost in her own mind.

“I love you, too.” He says. “I love you.”

Stiles brings a hand up to his face, and he turns his head to kiss her palm. 

“Sillywolf.” She whispers.

“Silly girl.” He counters, and presses his lips against hers, determined to always have the last word.

She’ll let him this once, because there will be many tomorrows to compete over, she decides. She’ll make sure of that.

Peter’s pinning Stiles to the bed, his pants and his shirt that she’d stolen finally join the mess on her bedroom floor, and together they find bliss.

Turns out, she didn’t need to let it go.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Drop a kudos and a comment to tell me what you thought and make my day a little bit better!
> 
> Happy (belated) New Year everyone!


End file.
